


something left to save

by eliotkeats



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Episode 68-69 spoilers, Friendship, Gen, misery cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8169799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliotkeats/pseuds/eliotkeats
Summary: The night before Whitestone, in the mansion.





	

It’s not the first time they’ve done something like this, although it had been more for warmth than solace. And it’s _Vax_ asking, openly, for the simplest form of comfort there is: _don’t let me be alone_. So Scanlan gets it, he really does.

The twins pull the thick bedspreads from their mattresses and carry them into the large den nearest the corridor with their bedrooms. Scanlan commands several of his ethereal servants to shift the furniture to the sides of the room, against the bookcases. (He hasn’t found the time or interest to crack the books open since their creation. The pages could be blank; he liked the look of them, is all.)

Vex’s braid is half-undone and tangled, falling in her face as she unrolls her blankets across the thick carpet — shag, of course. Vax sits back on his heels, fists planted on his thighs, watching her as she works. When Vex finishes, she collapses to the blankets and curls up, hugging her knees and pressing her forehead against them. Vax gives Scanlan a wordless look and pulls the blankets over him and his sister. The blankets stir as he curls around her, one arm moving over her waist. He tips his forehead forward against her hair, and doesn’t say anything.  

Percy’s body remains motionless on the tabletop where Grog laid him out, the rich cloth and fine embroidery of the robe draped over him lacking the slightest tremble of breath or movement.  

Keyleth stands beside him, watching the twins, her reddened eyes finally dry. Her fingers card repetitively through Percy’s hair, catching near his hairline where caked blood dries dark red. Scanlan pads over and touches her elbow.    

“Kiki, you need some shut-eye,” he says, jerking his head towards the blankets.  

“I can’t—” She swallows hard, as though something is lodged in her throat, and tries again. “I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Scanlan attempts to joke.

“ _Too soon_ , Scanlan,” Vax warns.

“I know, I know,” Scanlan apologizes. “My fault, trying to lighten the mood. Clearly...didn’t work. Okay. You really should sleep, though. Teleporting, Whitestone, Pike? We need you well-rested.”  

Keyleth strokes Percy’s hair back from his forehead.  

“You’ll be, like, four feet from him, max,” Scanlan says.

“Okay,” Keyleth says. She reaches up and untangles her circlet from her hair.

“Here, lemme,” Scanlan says, and takes the circlet, almost poking his eye out with one of the antlers. “Ow.”

“Careful,” Keyleth says distractedly. “Old family...heirloom. Very old.”

Scanlan deposits it on the nearest horizontal surface. “It’s safe, no worries.”

Keyleth hums acknowledgement and sinks to the rumpled bedding, arranging the ash-smudged hems of her skirts around her legs before lying down. Chin nestled on the crown of his sister’s head, Vax reaches out to squeeze Keyleth’s upper arm, and intertwines their fingers when she covers his hand with her own, her quiet exhale shaky.  

 _Thank fuck for magical bedding_ , Scanlan thinks, nonsensically, because everyone is filthy with dirt and ash, and most are bloodied to some extent.

He looks at Grog, standing across the table with Percy’s corpse laid out on it. “How about you, Grog?”

Grog scratches his beard and looks at Percy. “I’ll take watch.”  

Scanlan almost opens his mouth to point out that, hel _lo_ , magic mansion, no need for a watch, but then Grog drops his bedroll and sits down hard enough that the floorboards creak in protest; folds his massive arms over his knees, and begins chewing on his thumbnail, and Scanlan thinks: _oh_. 

“Okay, big guy,” he says, softly. “Try and catch some z’s, all right? Pack in a solid eight hours of beauty sleep?”

Grog grunts in response, which Scanlan takes as a probable maybe. So he grabs one of the blankets and heads for the largest armchair in the room, a mahogany and brocade construction at the edge of the haphazard circle of bedding and people, beside the unlit fireplace. He clambers onto its seat with little difficulty.  

Vex and Vax have practically congealed into a single mass of misery, with Keyleth on the periphery, still clutching Vax’s hand. It’s been a long day. They’ve all taken damage, physical and emotional, and Scanlan knows that once the exhaustion sets in, they’ll sleep through the night and marvel at themselves for it in the morning. Simple chemistry. Or biology. Science isn’t his forte.     

After a few minutes, there’s a rustling as Grog spreads out his bedroll and rolls onto his side, head pillowed on one meaty palm. He eyes the huddled forms of Vax, Vex, and Keyleth, his jaw set determinedly. A short time passes before he’s snoring away, low rumbles vibrating throughout the room’s still air.  

The corpse is almost shapeless beneath the drape of the robe, a mass of gray contrasted against the rest of the darkened room. Unmoving. A promise of sorts, but different from Tiberius — a reminder of what they still have to save rather than what they failed to.    

Scanlan listens to his friends’ breathing gradually even, as, one by one, they drop off to sleep. He kicks his feet up on one armrest, and settles in to wait for morning.  


End file.
